


The Longest Cliché

by Phosphorite



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Communication Failure, M/M, Older Characters, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:07:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3453479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phosphorite/pseuds/Phosphorite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>That guy,</i> he might still start a few years later, and forget what it was that he wanted to say; because suddenly the paparazzi snaps and the red carpet flash make him pause in the middle of his then-girlfriend's glossy magazine.</p><p><i>You know that guy?</i> she asks, and for a moment he will look for the right words before settling for an unexpectedly bewildered, <i>I used to, I guess.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Longest Cliché

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pennyofthewild](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennyofthewild/gifts).



> I first thought of this story on a plane back from Japan.
> 
> I didn't end up writing it for months, though; who knows when I would have, had Penny not also written an older!Aoki fic called _[on coming home, after a long winter](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3229319)_ that she (for whatever random bout of misjudgment) also dedicated to me.
> 
> Inspired by that story, I wanted to finish mine - although mine turned out far more bittersweet, given the original premise and direction I had in mind.
> 
> Still, I hope you enjoy this one too.

 

 

 

 _and you asked me then, in a year from now_  
_where will we be?_  
_and i didn't know_  
_but i never wanted to be_  
_just another man that you once admired_  
_burnt to ashes, in your bonfire_

\- april's bonfire, color theory

 

 

 

 

 

Wherever he goes, he always ends up finding the clichés.

He reads a hundred of them over the years, in print and online and in rapidly swarming neon-coloured letters across his TV. The terrible epithets in interviews and superlatives in magazine articles, like an unintentional parody of flattery – a stream of endless attempts to capture even a fragment of the essence of a man named Kise Ryouta.

Back in middle school, he finds them funny.

Back in high school, they make him laugh out loud.

They make him–– snort, self-assured and arrogant, because none of them ever _get_ it; that the Kise in those articles, full of wish-fulfillment and teenage dreams, is nothing like the real thing.

 _That guy, he's not so cool_ , he'll say to his teammates in his late teens, like an annulment of yet another idol fan poll, _In reality, he's the biggest dumbass I've ever met._

 _That guy, he's the worst_ , he'll say in his early twenties, over a misplaced comment on a random TV drama review, _Your sister wouldn't be so into him if they saw how ugly he looks when he cries._

 _That guy,_ he might still start a few years later, and forget what it was that he wanted to say; because suddenly the paparazzi snaps and the red carpet flash make him pause in the middle of his then-girlfriend's glossy magazine.

 _You know that guy?_ she asks, and for a moment he will look for the right words before settling for an unexpectedly bewildered,  _I used to, I guess._

(And the articles and interviews, well, they never stop; neither do the clichés, but they no longer make him laugh. Because by the time he turns twenty eight, what Aomine Daiki realizes is that each flowery, unrealistic description now knows the man named Kise Ryouta better than he does, until one day someone points out a promo still from a movie, and he cannot think of a single comment at all.)

 

 

 

_"Yo. Satsuki said you wanted to talk to me about something."_

_"...I heard you're leaving next week."_

_"Yeah. I ain't sticking around for the graduation ceremony. Who cares when you're already scouted?"_

_"...I got scouted too. Well, not–– not like you. But it's another agency, an international one."_

_"Oh, great. Does that mean that even abroad, I have to read the shit they print about you in magazines?"_

_"To be fair, we both know Aominecchi can only look at the pictures."_

_"...Were you looking to get your ass kicked, or did you actually have something to say?"_

_"Well, I–– I came to ask you something, I guess."_

_"Oh. Okay, shoot."_

_"Well..."_

_"...Just get on with it, Kise."_

_"...Twenty years from now, where do you think we'll be?"_

 

 

 

It didn't always use to be that way.

In fact, he remembers a time when it most definitely wasn't – a time when he'd turn off the notifications on his phone and mute Kise approximately five times a week, just to fight back Satsuki's latest group chats running rampant with custom sticker sheets.

A time, when he'd roll his eyes at any suggestion that he'd miss his former friends while abroad, that he and _Kagamicchi_ should make a support group, that ten years from now they should all meet up and compare how far they got in life. How _clichéd_ was that, laughable really, to imply he'd cling to his childhood teammates like something out of a lousy phonebook manga?

He doesn't know when the stickers and the jokes eventually stopped.

It's not his fault that between making new friends, new teammates and new loves, the years following graduation turned into a blur. Sometimes Tetsu visited, sometimes Satsuki did; while it was nice, it was also easier to deal with his past and present in brief glimpses, so as to not overwhelm or drag him down.

Satsuki never stopped talking about _Ki-chan_ , of course, in off-handed comments like _did you hear he bought a cat_ or _he said he's thinking of dying his hair black_ , all of which he'd counter with a permutation of _wow, do I look like I give a shit_ – yet deep down it was all he needed, to connect the man in the magazines with the boy he (kind of? maybe? sort of?) once called a friend.

Even if the years passed, time would–– stand still, this way, and nothing about the past would ever have to change; even if the off-handed comments eventually turned into _you should talk to him sometime_ or _I can't be your proxy to Ki-chan forever_ , which sounded so laughable he'd copy the message to Bakagami for a laugh.

What followed were words as confused as the expression must have been behind the screen:

_Why haven't you?_

(He thought of it–– sometimes, or a lot of times, when the status updates and the second hand information grew scarcer; but he couldn't think of a reason any more than he could think of a good enough excuse, until at thirty his first fiancée pointed at the guest list and said,

_So, who can't you imagine having a wedding without?)_

 

 

 

_" What kind of a stupid ass question is that?"_

_"...It's just a question, Aominecchi."_

_"Well, how the hell should I know? Twenty years from now... I'll be fucking ancient. And so will you."_

_"No, what I mean is... You think you'll be married? Have kids?"_

_"I dunno. Probably. Isn't that what old people do?"_

_"...I figured that's what you'd say."_

_"Then why did you ask?"_

_"...I guess..."_

_"...What?"_

_"...I guess I just wanted to hear the answer."_

 

 

 

It's ironic, really.

Almost exactly as Kise predicted, roughly ten years later they meet, to compare how far they got in life. Just because the occasion is Aomine's wedding doesn't make it any less of an unofficial high school reunion, even if not everyone attends to shed light on the people they grew up to be. He never specifically expected them to, anyway, because the truth is that he only cares to hear about one.

He almost comes to regret it, as soon as each glossy magazine page comes alive in an effortless sway through the door, because it's such a goddamn cliché that it makes Aomine want to scream.

The man looks like Kise Ryouta, sounds like Kise Ryouta, but Aomine has no idea who he is. He's seen enough pictures to expect the confidence of maturity in the place of Kise's former charm, but the hardened edges and the calculated charisma still catch Aomine off guard.

 _How does someone like me know Daiki? Oh, the two of us–– we go_ way _back!_

It sounds wrong.

It sounds wrong it sounds wrong and most of all it sounds so perversely _fake_ , because the intimacy of his first name is like sarcasm on Kise's tongue.

Or maybe it's not; maybe, it's just him, and Kise doesn't think about it at all. Maybe all it means is that at thirty they're too old to be calling each other by silly nicknames and last names, because when Kise's eyes momentarily soften and he congratulates Aomine on his marriage in a gentle voice, the sentiment nonetheless rings sincere.

In a way, it feels worse that it is.

That night he watches the friends of his Japanese-American wife gush around a renowned celebrity, listens to the laughter and the glitter trailing a life he knows nothing about anymore. The Kise of his memories blurs with the man in the magazines, and while the combination doesn't hurt, it – it simply makes him unable to remember how much of this used to be real.

It's just as he wanted it, Aomine tells himself. That this is what he chose, and that he chose it for a reason.

What that reason is, well, he still doesn't really know; because when Kise leans in to ask if Aomine minds him dancing with his wife, it's simply another cliché that he swallows down, to ignore the brush and the spark of Kise's hand on his arm.

 _Is it just me, or has everyone just been staring at Kise the whole night?_ he mutters when Satsuki joins him for a glass afterwards, but the unreadable sharpness in her eyes catches him silent.

 _No_ , she says, and the double meaning in her words is as perceptive as he always feared it might be, _It_ is _just you, Dai-chan._

(Maybe this is why it takes him another ten years, before he sees Kise again.)

 

 

 

_"So, where do you think you're gonna be in twenty years, then?"_

_"...Haah? Is Aominecchi actually interested?"_

_" What? Get real. I'm only asking 'cos I told you mine."_

_"...Well, I'm not sure. I don't... really see myself getting married."_

_"Why? 'Cos your stupid popularity would plummet?"_

_"...Something like that, I guess. It's... not like it would make sense for me to commit to something for that long."_

_"Hnh. I figured that's what you'd say."_

_"...Then why did you ask?"_

_"I dunno. Maybe I wanted to hear the answer too."_

_"...Well, Aominecchi, maybe all it means is both of us were just wasting our time trying to find out."_

 

 

 

It's only half a coincidence, the way they meet ten years later.

A lot can happen in that time, and a lot of it does.

A failed marriage. Then another. Many nights spent arguing with Satsuki whether he ought to move back to Japan, a lot of days spent whining to Tetsu how he doesn't want to end up a loser who coaches high school kids. A dozen afternoons spent saying nothing at all while Bakagami allows him to work off his frustrations through basketball, until the sun finally sinks on that side of the Pacific for good.

Who was it, anyway, who once felt clinging to childhood teammates was a cliché?

Still, he wants to cling to that other half of the coincidence that reunites them, if just for the sake of his pride; after all, it would only be more awkward to run into Kise at the premiere of a film about some poor basketball prodigy's rise to fame, had he personally funded, produced and directed it.

Twenty years ago, Kise would have been playing the lead. Twenty years ago, he would have shown up on that screen as the temperamental ace of his team, and bragged endlessly in every interview how his past as a high school basketball genius made it easy to prepare for the role. But twenty years later, there are other pretty blonds whose time it is to sparkle and shine in the spotlight, and it's Kise whose career lands him the part of said ace's mentor.

Not that Kise hasn't made a number of his past in the interviews anyway, talking about the extensive research he did to catch up with the current high school basketball trends – a blatant, audacious lie if there ever was one, because it's Aomine that the production team used to consult.

This, in turn, is precisely why Aomine knows it's nowhere near a chance accident that Kise's elbow bumps into him in the lobby, roughly twenty three minutes before the opening credits begin to roll.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I wasn't looking where I––"

A split second's worth of naked surprise passes Kise's face as soon as he lifts his head, recognition followed by doubt followed by recognition again. It's a dance Aomine's done with most people at some point of his life –like Midorima in Osaka three years ago, or Wakamatsu at the Tokyo Skytree one New Year's eve– but it feels... unnerving, honestly, to feel like even someone like Kise may have had to second guess his own memory.

"...It _is_ you," come the words, though, followed by a genuine smile; and it's a smile Aomine would recognize in his sleep regardless of how many years passed, the way it snakes from Kise's lips all the way up to his golden eyes.

(See, the clichés – they're _all_ true, and it's only fitting that it has taken twenty years for Aomine to start admitting why.)

 

 

 

_"...So, I guess I can just catch up with you through the magazines then, huh?"_

_".........."_

_"Fifteen different girlfriends on the same red carpet shoot, the whole cliché."_

_"...You know what, Aominecchi? You're right. And thanks for reminding me. I have a–– date, so I should be going now. Wouldn't want to be late."_

_"Wh–– the hell?! I thought you wanted to–– Shit, Kise, is that seriously all you came to tell me before I leave?"_

_"...Well, even if it wasn't, does it really matter now?"_

_"Huh?"_

_"...All it is, is just another cliché."_

 

 

 

Neither one of them ends up seeing the film.

Well, Aomine does a month or two later, but on that night it's Kise's voice that washes over him like a surround system; the _we haven't spoken in forever_ and the _you never told me you were involved with the production_ until the _look, I'd much rather catch up with you than watch some stuck up little shit try and mimic my old lines_ , and before Aomine knows it the nightly Autumn wind hits him square in the face.

But this Kise, is not the Kise at his first wedding.

It is not the Kise he's seen in countless commercials, snippets of TV shows he switched the channel on, magazines he threw in the trash; but the strangest thing is that it's not the Kise of his youth either, not the memory of the man Aomine's spent years desperately trying to encase in time.

The Kise on that night in October still shines bright, but the sharpness of cynicism has washed off the corners of his smile. It gives that shine a subdued glow, like an acceptance that comes from somewhere far deeper within; a radiance that Aomine can feel in his touch, when Kise's hand lands on his arm again, and the spark is still there.

It still makes him swallow, but there is nothing he can swallow it down with.

"Won't she–– whoever you came with, won't they be upset to find out you left?"

The metal of the overhead bridge is a welcome contrast under his fingers, the gravel under his shoes a firm link to reality. When his feet falter, Kise turns his head, and both of them must realize they have no idea where to go.

Either way Kise's brows knit together, amusement and surprise in one.

"...Didn't you know?" he pauses, leans against the rail of the bridge, then smiles into the street that stretches out below. "I haven't taken anyone to the premieres in years."

It's as much as he says, and yet somehow–– a flash of pink hair dances at the very edge of Aomine's consciousness, as if he could hear the sternness of Satsuki's voice in his head. And how could he not – because they're words she's gutted him with too, around the time he called her to tell his second marriage was over.

_Do what you do. Live how you live. Spend your whole life running away if that's what you want, but don't hurt others by promising them something you cannot give._

(The cool wind tugs on Kise's hair like on that afternoon twenty years ago, and Aomione's done wasting everyone's time.)

 

 

 

_"C'mon. Did he say anything?"_

_"For the hundredth time, no, he hasn't talked about what happened. I don't know what it is that he wanted to say."_

_"But you guys gossip all the time. You gotta know something."_

_"Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you. Because obviously there's a reason he didn't tell you himself."_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"That you're an idiot. And also a coward, because you refuse to ask him."_

_"As if he'd ever be honest with me."_

_"Like_ you're _being honest with_ him _?"_

_"What the hell, Satsuki?!"_

_"Come on, figure it out."_

_"I don't––"_

_"Look, I'm not your babysitter anymore, Dai-chan. I love you, but promise me you'll sort out your crap before you hit forty."_

 

 

 

"What did you really want to tell me before I left Japan?"

There's no amusement this time, only blindsided surprise.

When the words come, Aomine feels calm. He's lived through this moment a hundred times over, in memories that never came to pass; and maybe, by the end of tonight there will be nothing left to protect in those memories anymore, but he doesn't want to wait another ten years to get a chance like this to ask.

The city wails like a wounded animal, and somewhere behind Kise's gaze is something that Aomine recognizes as another waiting to run. It's a gamble and Aomine knows it, because there are only two ways this can go: either Kise is honest, or he is not.

Either way, both of them will know.

"I," Kise begins, fingers gripping the side of the rail a little harder when Aomine's shoulder brushes his. The smile on his lips wavers, but only just; when it settles in place, his voice comes out clear, but not without the tiniest flicker of doubt.

"...I don't remember anymore."

_There._

Another audacious lie, and a carefully guarded heart; and it's all it takes for Aomine to understand exactly what it means, because there was only ever one thing _his_ Kise could never afford to be honest about.

In that moment, he doesn't remember the wind.

Doesn't remember the wailing city, or the world around him.

All he knows, is the sharp breath of air that passes between them, and the complete silence in his ears when he reaches over to brush his lips against Kise's own; it only lasts for a heartbeat, enough to carry his nerve, and to render his voice calm.

"...But you do."

Truth is, it's a calmness that comes close to shattering instantly at the wide, dumbfounded stare that greets him like a literal snapshot of their youth. But it's not this that gives Aomine away; no, it is not until Kise finally blinks, opens his mouth, and breathes out five tiny syllables on complete instinct, that it feels like Aomine's entire heart erupts in his chest.

"Ao... minecchi?"

Because that _voice_ , it belongs to the past like it belongs to the future and the present, right here and now – the person Aomine spent an eternity running from, first for fear of never finding him again, then for the fear that he would. It's a realization that feels irreversible enough to want to scream on that bridge in Shibuya, because all at once it confirms that every single year he has lived since that day before graduation both has and has not been a waste.

Kise, well, he blinks, and then again, like something in his head is desperately struggling back from the brink of short-circuiting. At long last he opens his mouth again, but it's his hand that shoots out and grabs Aomine's wrist.

Maybe he means to say something. Or then again, maybe not. It's a hasty, feverish yank that almost sends Aomine flat on his face, as if part of Kise cannot waste a moment to hesitate; like the scene could break at any second, slam both of them back into the reality that still existed two minutes ago.

But it's not a reality either one of them can return to, ever again, and Aomine knows.

(For the first time in his life, it's a thought that fills him with hysterical, yet also elated relief.)

 

 

 

_~~I wanted to ask you.~~ _

_~~I wanted you to tell me, that I~~ _

_~~I wanted to tell you, that we~~ _

_(...I think all I ever wanted_

_was that you wouldn't let me go)_

 

 

 

The hotel is not far from the premiere cinema –promotional purposes, Kise later explains, while the promo tour is still on– but it feels like a trek to the other side of town. Perhaps it wouldn't, if Kise wasn't hell-bent on dragging Aomine through the evening crowd like a blind man's game of pinball; though the curses soon turn into unintentional laughter, because it's so _stupid_ and _juvenile_ and it feels like–– _them_ , in a life he never thought would return.

At the corner of the final block, he feels Kise's hand slipping from his wrist to catch his fingers, and whether or not it's an accident, the grip remains firm for the rest of the street.

That's the easy part.

A far harder part comes when the lights of the city die out, when the door behind him closes and the silence is but a reminder of all the words that lie in the shadows at his feet.

But a glow still follows him into the darkness, in the final glimmer of guardedness before the shadows move, before Kise leans out to touch the side of his face like a question and an answer all in one; there's always that one moment that exists with or without words, and when the touch dissolves into a cautious kiss, it feels a lot like the flash of gold he could never rid from his dreams.

What a _cliché_ , all of it––

but whose cliché is it, really?

Because there is definitely a hint of surprise on Kise's face when the hesitation dies off Aomine's lips, when the kiss deepens and the instinctive freak-out Kise must have anticipated never emerges at all; but his bewilderment is lost just as quickly in a sea of impulse, fingertips dragging on exposed skin with the exact urgency that initially pulled Aomine along.

In the half-light, it's an urgency that blows out the shadows off a lifetime of lies.

And it makes Aomine want to laugh hysterically, as much as it kind of makes him want to cry; at the flood of memories, both real and unlived, that manifest in that familiar laughter that trickles from Aomine's neck into his ear; at the world of opportunities, lost rather than seized, that he can no longer ignore in the litheness of Kise's body under his hand.

Perhaps, that touch might come with an air of self-consciousness, hadn't both of their professions always necessitated exemplar physical health. Even so, it's impossible not to–– remember, the boy he walked out on at eighteen, the teen idol Aomine was always quick to flip a page on before his annoyance turned to intrigue.

(He's not sure if the thought fills him with wistfulness or pride, somehow; because twenty years later he finds that same boy straddling his waist in a hotel room in Tokyo, yet not an ounce of that mischievous allure has drained off his gaze.)

 

 

 

_(But I guess I should have realized_

_once you light a fire in someone, deep down it always stays ablaze.)_

 

 

 

He opens his eyes to a world of blinding white, and the breeze of an October morning.

The breeze trails in through a high, narrow window, the white but an illusion that fades when he blinks. The arm that shifts by his head is clad in white, too, last night's dress shirt rolled up by the sleeves; staring at the screen of a tablet computer with a pair of dark-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, it's hard to say whether Kise's look screams more _morning after_ than simply _office chic._

Either way, he gives a start at Aomine snorting against his arm.

And really, it's a perfect opportunity to waltz past all the uncomfortable lines, to turn this scene into a parody of happily ever afters; but as much as the coward in him aches to bury their past beneath a hundred meaningless jabs, it's not something Aomine can justify to himself anymore.

Instead, he remains silent, until Kise finally takes a deep breath and glances down.

"...That wasn't your first time."

It's a kind of a–– challenge, maybe, to see if Aomine seizes his words as a joke. But the cynicism in Kise's voice is one that Aomine recognizes from ten years ago, and it's enough of a warning to make him choose his words with care. The Kise at eighteen, the Kise at thirty, the Kise in front of him now – they're all the same person, and it's up to Aomine to drag them all back into his life.

His fingers land on the side of Kise's arm, but he does not hold Kise's gaze.

"...After my first divorce, there was–– It was just a couple of times, because I didn't want to talk to anyone, and he––"

His hand comes to a halt.

"...I guess he looked like you."

The breath in Kise's chest comes to a halt, too.

Slowly, he proceeds to lift the tablet off his lap and places it on the night stand next to the bed. Next, he removes his glasses, and gently places them on top of the computer.

Then he turns to Aomine, and punches him square in the face.

It's commendable, really, that somewhere along the way Kise must have picked up the skill of bruising a man without breaking their nose. The pain comes out like a searing jolt, but it's also strangely welcome, the piercing ache grounding Aomine to reality in ways no words ever could.

Instinctively, his eyes shoot up like his hand cradles the impact, but in two seconds flat the pain subsides. In its stead, what grips him is the look of naked fury on Kise's face, the hurt that quickly contorts into a grimace.

"You could have _had_ me," he hisses, and when his voice breaks, so does the final link still holding the history at bay.

Whether it becomes the best or the worst cliché of all does not matter.

What matters is that it's not the past Kise cries for, or the future yet to unfold; because the tears are for the decades wasted on stubbornness and pride, cathartic precisely since both of them are equally to blame.

This is why he doesn't push away Aomine's arms either, or even flinch when Aomine leans in to whisper, "...I know."

It's also why Aomine continues to trace those shoulders until the sobs grow calmer, and all that remains are Kise's bloodshot eyes and the bruise slowly settling on Aomine's face.

(Perhaps, it is this combined proof of their stupidity that finally makes both of them laugh; perhaps it is exactly what allows Aomine to finally speak the words that twenty years ago, Kise did not.)

_Twenty years from now? No, I don't really know where we'll be._

_(...But I don't really care, as long as you get there with me.)_

 

 

"Ah, Dai-chan! Did you see the link I sent you?"

"...Yeah, I did. So what?"

"You know you always hate what they write about you? I thought that one was pretty good."

"...They mixed my name with Bakagami's again. How the hell is that good?"

"Okay, that particular detail notwithstanding–– I thought it was cute."

" _Light of Miracles!! Star actor spotted at IKEA in a fight over floor lamps with former NBA player, witnesses insist argument called off by a 'phantom'._ Yeah, still sounds like grade A bullshit to me."

"Hey, you memorized it!"

"........"

"Aw, I bet you bought the actual magazine. I bet you bought it and cut that picture of you two out and––"

"––Ok, firstly, shut up, Satsuki."

"Hey––"

"And secondly... Well, wouldn't that be the most clichéd thing in the world?"

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna write happy & stupid Aoki soon, I swear! But I just needed this story to see the light of day first.


End file.
